


My Heroine

by TheYoungPilgrim



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYoungPilgrim/pseuds/TheYoungPilgrim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Delphine and Cosima have known each other since Delphine moved in across the street when they were 8. As they grow older, they only grow closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Translations at the end

I was eight the first time I saw her.

I remember the day so perfectly clear because it was one of those rare new days, those days where something new is coming, some novel thing is growing, building, becoming great. I didn't know how important that day was way back then, in fact, I once considered it the worst day of my life.

The day was moving day. My family and I were to fly from our lovely home in France where all my friends and the rest of my family were going to stay and grow up together, without me, and move to some hilly city in America of all places called San Francisco.

I had never heard of San Francisco, I knew nothing of this place I was supposed to call home. But my father, he told me that home is where your life is and he told me that life is all about adventure, about taking risks and making tough decisions, and this journey across the sea was all that wrapped up in one pretty little contract from his company, a contract that spelled out thousands more for my father if he just agreed to make one small move.

Well, when he put it that way, eight year old me was nearly convinced.

The real convincing though wouldn't start until the unpacking began.

The first time I saw her, I was drenched in sweat, my hair stuck firmly to neck, my clothes clinging in all the wrong places, from the heavy August sun beating down on me while I did the best any scrawny eight year old can do when it comes to moving box after box into a house much larger than anticipated.

I had just dropped off a box of my toys in my room on the second floor. I thought I'd take a quick break and look out the window to really see where I was supposed to live for the foreseeable future.

I'll never forget that moment, standing on the tips of my toes just to see out of the window, looking at this new world where the sun might be unforgivable but the wind blows so sweet and the hills roll into each other over and over way off in the horizon where everything is new, where everything is still an adventure.

I fell in love twice that day.

First, with my new home buried in the steep hills of sunny San Francisco. Then, with a girl who quite literally stumbled into my vision.

She was short, tiny really, with brown hair and these big circle glasses that took up most of her face. The thing that really caught my attention though was that she had been pushed forward into my picturesque scene by some giant beast of a boy. But instead of crying or yelling for her parents, much like I would've done, she picked herself up, dusted off the grass from her pants, and with these scrawny little arms, she shoved that prick right back. This tiny creature had the absolute balls to shove a kid easily twice her size.

And you know what, it worked. That kid, whose name I never learned despite the fact he's lived next to me for ten years, fell right on his ass and started bawling.

Then, this girl with twiggish arms stronger than an oak bent over and hoisted up her bully just to wipe off his tears and wrap him up in a hug. The boy held his arms to his side for a second before engulfing this tiny, brave girl with his arms longer than her whole body.

She was amazing.

I was in love.

I remember being eight and having no idea what this warm, swirling feeling in the pit of my stomach was. It was like the summer ocean was crashing into my rib cage, an undercurrent was churning my organs, a whirlpool was circling my heart. It was like I was drowning and flying all at once.

I had no idea what this feeling was, but I knew I never wanted it to go away.

So I wrapped my arms around myself to keep the waters from rushing out as I ran out of my new room and down the stairs. I still remember crashing in to my mother and hearing her curse for the first time. I could barely believe it, my prim and proper mother shouting "Merde!" as she stumbled down a few steps and grabbed desperately at the railing to keep from tumbling down the flight of stairs.

But I couldn't stop and make sure my mom was alright, I was on a mission, I had to meet this brave little girl, my mother's shouting be damned. I continued on, bursting through the front door and running past the moving van, I was nearly to the street when my father called for me.

"Delphine! Delphine, éloigne toi de la route!" He had on his angry voice, the kind of austereness that only a worn out father can pull off.

My legs came to a screeching stop. Across the street, the little brunette looked up, her classes were so smudged with dirt I'm sure she couldn't see but a vague outline of my shape. She gave a little wave and went back to playing with that bully, without even waiting for me to wave back.

God did I hate that kid then. Why should he be the one allowed to play with someone who was clearly too brave, too kind to hang around him? I should have been the one across the street, kicking a ball back and forth with the girl who made the ocean rage inside me.

But, of course, there was no ignoring my father's angry voice. So, I turned around with slumped shoulders and grabbed the box from his outstretched hands, letting the swirling currents in my stomach pour out as I went.

* * *

It took two days for us to finish bringing in all the boxes. Two days where I was barely allowed out of the house let alone across the street. Two days I spent stealing glances out of my window at the pale yellow house, just waiting for her to come back out.

Once the moving van was gone, the neighborhood welcome wagon parked in its place. Every family on the street brought us something: flowers, pies, pastas, you name it. It was fantastic; I had never had so many sweets before and so many I had never even heard of.

Really though, I was just waiting for the family from the little yellow house with the brave little girl to show up. Of course, they were the very last family to visit. They came sweeping in with apologies for taking so long to visit and the sweetest apple pie I have ever tasted.

She didn't look anything like either of her parents. Her father was tall with slim shoulders, blonde hair, and an expensive-looking suit. Her mother was petite and she had strawberry-colored hair and these big blue eyes that pulled your attention right in.

She was little, tiny shoulders, chicken legs, she looked like a baby deer. But her stature was, and is, the only small thing about her. She spoke with this loud voice that would bump up an octave every time she was excited by something, and she was excited by everything, her eyes light up behind those giant round glasses, and she wore a constant smile that spread to everyone around her.

She was the one who rang the doorbell. I had been watching from the window, I saw them leave their house and when they walked in our direction, I bounded down to the top of the staircase so I could see them as soon as they walked in. My father opened the door and was greeted by a small hand reaching for his own. He laughed and crouched down to her height so she wouldn't have to reach so far.

She shook his hand and very proudly said, "Hello! I'm Cosima!" with a smile that would quickly become more familiar to me than my own.

He chuckled and said, "Well it's nice to meet you, Cosima. I'm Mr. Cormier." He stood back up to greet her parents and shake their hands over Cosima's head. Once my father stepped out of the way and gestured for them to come in, Cosima, brave little Cosima, came bounding in and ran right up the stairs, straight to me.

"Hello! I'm Cosima! Wanna play?" She stood with her hands behind her back while she rocked back and forth on her heels, ever the impatient one.

"Oui. Non, je veux dire yes. Sorry, yes!" I was new to English and I still stumbled over a lot of the words. But Cosima would always just smile and wait for me to figure out what I was trying to say.

"Good!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs and out the door, not that she had to pull very hard to get me to follow her.

Our parents shouted, "Be careful!" as we went.

She just turned and giggled before running across the street with her hand still firmly wrapped around mine.

Once we were in her front yard, she let go of my hand and with open eyes and a wide smile she said, "So, I've got a soccer ball, barbies, trains, and a barbie car. What d'you wanna do, um, what's your name?"

The words tumbled from her mouth so quickly there was no chance my barely-English-speaking brain would be able to keep up. I stood still for a second with my shoulders shrugged so high they were practically touching my ears

"Sorry, my mom always tells me I have to learn how to slow down because no one can understand me when I talk like a racehorse."

She had slowed down, just barely, but it was enough for me to pick up on the gist of what she was saying.

She tried again. "What's your name?"

"Delphine." I said quietly with my eyes darting down and hands wrapped tightly around my stomach, still trying to keep the water from spilling out.

"Well Delphine," she smiled, "we can play whatever you want, so what d'you wanna do?"

I had no idea what I was supposed to say, I didn't know what kids in San Francisco played or what Cosima liked to play. All I knew was that this tiny brunette's smile was the reason why every river in America was swirling in my stomach.

All I knew, at eight years old, was that I never wanted that feeling of falling and flying to go away and I would do anything, play any silly game, tell any stupid joke, anything as long as that tiny brunette never stopped smiling at me.

* * *

**Translations:**

**1\. Merde! - Shit!**

**2\. Delphine, éloigne toi de la route! - Delphine, get away from the street!**

**3\. Oui. Non, je veux dire yes. - Yes. No, I mean yes.**

 


	2. The End of an Era

As cute as the whole love at first sight thing is, our story really didn't start until four years later when I was twelve. It was the first year of middle school. Those preteen hormones are in overdrive: friendships are lost and won over boys, rumors fly around the school faster with each passing hour, and suddenly everything seems like its life or death.

Cosima and I were inseparable. She was still this tiny ball of pure energy, bouncing and laughing and just making the world a better place. I knew then, that something was different about the way I felt about her. I knew it wasn't normal to feel a hurricane swirling through your body every time you look at your best friend, your best friend who happened to be a girl. I knew your heart wasn't supposed to ach when you thought about her. I knew you weren't supposed to swoon at the smallest of smiles.

I knew all this, but frankly, I didn't give a damn.

I didn't care that all my other friends were running off with their new boyfriends. I was happy watching them blush over a kiss on the cheek. I loved watching their faces light up whenever they spoke about whichever boy they were going to spend the next month or so with. The joy that comes with that new puppy love is so wonderful and warm and contagious and I was happy just to revel in the joy of my friends and the love in my friendship with Cosima.

I was twelve and having the time of my life with my best friend in the world.

Then Scott came along. Scott, with his goofy smile and nervous disposition. He and Cosima had been getting closer. They had a few classes together, including Biology which they were both so passionate about (I was too but I had a different teacher than the two of them, so more often than not our classes were different enough that I couldn't contribute to their heated discussions), and as such had started to spend quite a lot of time together both in school and out of school.

One day, Cosima and I were in the library together after school. Scott came up to our table and, of course, only spoke to Cosima. He was fidgeting constantly, he would stare at Cosima only to duck away as soon as she made eye contact, and 'um' had replaced his normally expansive, well at least expansive for a twelve-year-old, vocabulary.

I rolled my eyes and pretended to read my notes while I listened to his nervous rambling.

He stared directly at the floor as he spoke, "So, um, Cosima, I was, um, wondering if I could talk to you, uh, alone" his eyes darted to me for a second, "I mean just for like a second."

Cosima paused, sounded unsure when she answered, "Uh, yeah sure." She tapped me on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, Delph."

I made some small affirmative noise while I pretended to be very interested in whatever the hell I was reading.

A few minutes later, Cosima came bounding back up to the table, her signature cheshire grin was double its normal size. She slammed my book shut and when I tried to slap her hand away, she grabbed my book and bounced back on her heels.

"Cosima, what is wr-"

"Scott asked me out!" She blurted out, then blushed and crossed her hands in front of her chest.

I plastered on my best smile. "That's great! I'm so happy for you, Cos."

"Thanks." She slumped down in the chair across from me and propped her feet up on my thighs. "He was talking so quickly when he asked I could barely understand what he said."

I chuckled through gritted teeth.

Cosima didn't notice though. She blabbed on and on about how cute Scott was when he's nervous and how glad she was that she found someone she just clicked with for over an hour before my mom came to pick us up.

She didn't even stop when we got in the car. She just told my mother everything I'd already had to suffer through. My mom smiled at her and made the appropriate noises at the appropriate times while sending worried glances my way.

As soon as we pulled into the driveway, Cosima yelled out, "Thanks for the ride Mrs. C!" as she ripped open the mini van's door.

"You're not staying?" My mother asked as she stepped out into the driveway.

Cosima was already halfway to her house when she called back, "No, I told Scott I'd call him as soon as I got home."

"Oh alright. I'll see you later then, dear."

Cosima waved over her shoulder, but didn't break pace this time.

I slammed the car door as I got out.

"Delphine, tu vas bien? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?"

"Je vais bien."

I wasn't fine though. I was beyond mad. Everyday since we were eight, Cosima and I would hang out in the library until either my or Cosima's mom came to pick us up from school and bring us to my or her house. We'd do our homework together, goof around for a while, eat dinner, and one of us would go home. Everyday for four years. And now all the sudden Scott was more important than our routine, than our friendship, than me?

"So who exactly is this Scott?"

"He's a nice boy, maman"

"Well that's good. I'm glad Cosima is so happy."

"Me too." I sighed. "I'm gonna go do my homework upstairs."

"Alright, well if you need anything just call."

I tried not to be mad at Cosima. She was excited, that was all. In a few days she would get over this whole new relationship thing and it would all go back to normal.

So I put on some loud music, worked on my homework, and I tried to forget how much I hated working alone.

* * *

Two months later and it still hadn't gone back to normal. Cosima stopped waiting in the library with me. Instead, she went home on Scott's bus everyday. She stopped sitting with me at lunch. Instead, she sat with Scott and his idiot friends. She stopped doing anything with me unless we were in the same class and Scott wasn't there. And even then all she did was talk about Scott.

My brave little girl was gone and some boy-crazy, friendship-abandoning teenager had taken her place.

I hated it. I tried so hard to be happy for her. I should have been happy for her. She found someone she really clicked with, someone who understood her, someone who cared about her. The problem was that she already had that.

Well, she used to at least. I used to click with her, until the only thing she cared about was some boy, I used to understand her, until she forgot everything she used to care about, I used to care about her, until she stopped caring about me.

Soon after that, even the short conversations we had in class stopped almost entirely. I couldn't deal with the twenty-four hour Scott channel that came out of her mouth, and she couldn't deal with my uninterested responses.

And exactly like we had promised would never happen, our friendship was lost to a boy.

At least for now.

* * *

**Translations:**

**1\. "Delphine, tu vas bien? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?" - "Delphine, are you alright? What's wrong?"**

**2\. "Je vais bien." - "I'm fine."**

**3\. Maman - Mom**


	3. Fucking Freshmen

After Cosima started to change, after she became this angry, brooding teenager, it became much easier for me to forget how I once felt about her. When I saw her in the halls with her hood covering her head and her shoulders slumped, my chest no longer felt hollow, instead my head ached with the violence of the music blaring from her headphones. When I saw her standing in the corner at parties pretending to be vastly interested in the floor, I no longer longed to grab her hand and pull her to the dance floor with me, instead I wanted to bring her a drink so that the tension in her shoulders might ebb away and she could actually enjoy herself.

Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of her when she talk to Scott. She would bat her hands around and her eyes would shine so brightly as she laughed and talked and smiled, her voice always so light, so happy. She almost seemed like the old Cosima.

Only then would my heart ache for the girl I once loved, only then would I feel the emptiness I first felt what seemed like so many life times ago, the intensity of it still as painful as the first day I realized Cosima was no longer my friend, no longer my anything.

I told myself I would no longer wait for someone who barely existed anymore. I told myself I would move on. In seventh grade, just before my thirteenth birthday, a friendly boy named Eli asked me out with a charming grin and shaking hands.

I said yes.

Eli became many of my firsts. My first boyfriend, the first person I held hands with, my first kiss.

He was a good kid: kind, smart, occasionally a decent conversationalist. He was sweet and he was safe. We dated, well dated as much as two barely-teens can, though I doubt having your mom drive you to the movies really counts as a date, for more than a year. Most of our friends went through boyfriends faster than they did tissues, so a year was quite an achievement back then.

But, of course, it ended and it ended with another first.

Eli was the first person to say he loved me.

I knew love. At fourteen I knew without the barest hint of a doubt what love is. Love is a hurricane of emotions, fear, happiness, jealousy, lust, all swirling inside, crashing against bones and organs, pushing and pulling with the tides. Love is a flock of pterodactyls, yes pterodactyls, not weak, fluttering butterflies, huge, prehistoric pterodactyls, ripping and tearing at your stomach. Love is dangerous, it's soul-crushingly, heart-breakingly, horribly wonderful.

It's not one-sided conversations whispered between study breaks. It's not hiding behind a wall in your own heart. It's not safe or quiet or tame. It's not anything I had with Eli. It's not anything I would ever want with Eli.

So I ended it, cruelly, after he choked up the courage to mumble those three false words.

I knew then who I wanted to hear those words from, who I would always want to hear those words from. Who was I kidding, thinking I was over that endearing smile, that quirky humor, that unfiltered joy?

That stupid fucking smile had ruined me since the first time it etched its way onto my heart.

Now I only had to get her to smile at me again.

* * *

Those first few years of high school are rough on everyone, but Cosima, Cosima took it to a whole new level.

While everyone else was trying to figure out exactly where they belonged, Cosima was pushing her few remaining friends away. While everyone else was experimenting with new styles, Cosima had already found hers: black, black, and yes, more black.

Heavy eyeliner brought your attention to her eyes, no longer bright or shining, but always dark with a storm rushing angrily behind her irises. Her bangs were cut jaggedly across her forehead, her hair now dyed jet black. She wore ripped tanktops for old metal bands and tight black jeans roughly tucked into worn combat boots.

On the first day she came stomping into my first period English class and slumped in the back row. Her eyes were bloodshot and she reeked of weed. Harsh music came roaring from her headphones loud enough to to fill every crevice in the room. When our teacher, a plump man of about forty-five with bright eyes and an even brighter intellect, asked her to turn it off, she rolled her eyes as she plucked the buds from her ears.

It was a fairly small class, to get into honors English your freshman year, you have to be invited, and usually only fifteen or so kids get the invitation, so the teacher, Mr. Moran, moved everyone closer to the front.

He moved Cosima to the front row.

She glared at him for most of the class.

We spent the first day playing those stupid "get to know you better" games. The kind that make you have an existential crisis when you suddenly can't remember a single thing about yourself.

The first game was to stand up and say your name and an interesting fact about yourself. Everyone's answers were predictable, some kids liked music, others went on vacation over the summer, shit like that. I said I was born in France, at that point it was still the most, if not only, interesting thing about myself.

Cosima stood up in the first row, stared right at Mr. Moran and said, "I'm Cosima Niehaus and I'm incredibly stoned right now."

You could feel the air being vacuumed from the room as fifteen terrified freshman sucked in fat breaths of air and stared open-eyed at the audacity of that stupid, stupid girl.

Now that in itself would have been an unforgettable moment.

But then, in this room so quiet you could taste the tension, Mr. Moran shook his head and with a voice as dry as the Sahara said, "Well that makes two of us."

It stayed that quiet for about four seconds, then, all at once, each of us was doubled over our desks, laughing so hard that our ribs ached and we could barely breathe, Cosima and Mr. Moran included.

Mr. Moran wiped the tears from his eyes and with one last chuckle, he raised his hands and asked for silence. It took another five minutes before the last of the giggles had ceased.

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he spoke. "Alright, well we only have a few minutes left, so I'd like to take this time to tell you about what you've signed up for. He held his hands behind his back and began pacing. "I'm not going to lie to you, this will be your hardest class so far. You've all been personally recommended for this class and that means I expect great things from each and everyone one of you. That's not to say we won't have fun. I try to keep it pretty lighthearted in here, but there will be work and there will be a lot of it. With that being said, come get your books. The first one we're reading is a classic, Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. I want you to read the first two scenes to prepare for tomorrow's discussion." He spoke over a chorus of groans. "Yes, we will be diving straight in tomorrow. This is an honors class, an honors class you choose, mind you, and this is how things work in honors classes. Get used to it."

And with that he opened up the box of books in the front of the classroom and plopped down at his desk.

A few minutes later, the bell rung. As everyone was packing up, Mr. Moran called Cosima up to his desk. She dropped her bag in front of her desk and slunk over to his desk.

I took my time packing up.

He leaned over the desk and fixed her with a serious stare. "Now, believe me, I get the whole testing your teachers thing, trying to figure out just how far you can poke and prod them. And I'm going to let you go on this one because it's the first day and I'm feeling generous, but if you ever pull a stunt like that again, even if you are kidding next time," he gave her a pointed look, "you will be buried in detentions and extra work. Clear?"

Cosima stared back, her jaw hard and her eyes cold. "Crystal."

He looked surprised at her attitude, but nodded anyway. "Good. Have a nice day, Ms. Niehaus."

She turned on her heel, marched to her desk, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stormed out of the room.

Mr. Moran looked at me, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Shouldn't you be getting to your next class, Delphine?"

I looked around the room and saw I was the last one there, obviously eavesdropping.

“Crap. Right. Bye." I tripped over the leg of my desk when I pulled my backpack on, knocking me to the floor with my bag doing its best at turning me into a turtle. I heard Mr. Moran try to hold back a chuckle.

I scrambled off the floor with as much grace as I could manage and as I left the room, I heard a mumbled "fuckin' freshman" coming from behind me.


	4. The Stupidity of Youth

"This play has nothing to do with 'true love!' Romeo is a douche and Juliet is a naïve child." Cosima yelled after yet another girl started spouting off about she wanted to find a love as real as the kind Romeo held for Juliet.

"Really, Cosima? Please, do tell us what you think it's about." Mr. Moran leaned against the desk (where he'd been standing, barely speaking for the entirety of class) and gestured for her to continue.

"The entire play is basically Shakespeare making fun of teenagers. I mean Romeo is your typical testosterone-filled a-hole. He dumps Rosaline, his supposed true love, because she won't sleep with him and then like the next day he's all over Juliet. And Juliet, don't get me started on Juliet. This guy murders her cousin, gets himself banished, and she still freaking kills herself over him." She leans back against her desk, "It's pathetic."

"You don't kill yourself over some school-girl crush, though." I called out in response.

"You do if the entire play is a hyperbole used to demonstrate the stupidity of youth." She called back, nestling further into her desk.

"Yes, of course the young are stupid. We're naïve and brash and foolish, but we're hopeful and trusting and kind too." Cosima turned in her seat to watch me speak. "Of course it's an exaggeration, but to me it shows the sort of novelty of your first love. How head-over-heals in love you think you are because everything is still so new and exciting. And Shakespeare exaggerates those feelings even more than teenagers do, so it's only fitting that he exaggerates the result."

"But Romeo wasn't in love with her. He wanted to fuck her!" Her hands moved wildly as she leaned further out of her desk.

"Ms. Niehaus!" Mr. Moran shouted.

"Crossed the line, I know, I'm sorry." She settled back down. "My point still stands." She crossed her arms.

I rolled my eyes.

"Alright, alright. That's enough discussion for today. Your first essays are due tomorrow." Everyone groaned as the bell rung. "No excuses!" He called over the sounds of students packing up.

Cosima was always the first person out of the room. Everyday she would race out of the room, down the hall to meet Scott at his locker before they walked to Bio together, attached at the lips the entire walk there.

I usually took my time packing up to avoid the view.

As I was walking out, Mr. Moran called my name.

"Delphine, wait! I have the draft you emailed me. It's very good, though I'm surprised the essay does not match your in-class tone."

"I like to argue." I shrugged.

He chuckled.

"Well, anyway. I made some notes, marked a few grammatical errors, just some minor issues, nothing major, but other than that, you're golden."

"Thanks," I smiled as I took my paper.

As I turned the corner leaving the room, I nearly bumped into a tiny body.

"Whoa there. Take it easy, blondie." Cosima laughed as she took a step back.

"Maybe you shouldn't be hiding behind doorways." I shot back with raised eyebrows.

"I wasn't hiding, I was waiting."

"For who? For me?" I asked incredulously. She nodded. "Why aren't you running off to go eat the inside of Scott's mouth."

"Ha ha. He's home or something. I don't know." She flicked her hands as if she was flicking away the topic. "Anyway, I figured we could discuss the intricacies of Shakespearean literature on the way to class." Her voice was light, playful. She stood with her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels like she used to do when she was nervous.

"I, uh, I would, but I've got Geometry and it's kind of out of the way for you." I stammered, thrown by the invitation.

She started to back away while she spoke, "Oh, right. Yeah 'course. No problem, I'll just, I'll see you around."

She popped her headphones in and walked off before I had the chance to say anything else.

I shook my head and turned to head off to class.

Scott came back to school the next day. Cosima did not.

I heard a million different things from a million different people that day; everything from Scott hitting on another girl to Cosima punching him in the face to both of them getting in a fight with the drug cartel. High schoolers really can't be trusted with anything. But the general consensus was that Scott took the day off to work up the nerve to break up with Cosima over unknown reasons and when he broke the news, she did not take it well at all.

I felt two very strong, very conflicting emotions. I was sorry for Cosima, she really liked Scott, loved him even, and she had to be devastated. And I really didn't want her to feel that way, no matter how little we spoke these days. But I was also horribly, terribly glad that they were no longer dating. It was selfish and cruel of me to feel that way, but I did and I as much as I wanted to, I couldn't control my feelings, no one can.

So, I glared at Scott in the hallways for hurting poor Cosima, but he kept his head down to avoid my eyes. I tried to pull him away from his friends so I could either beat him up for upsetting her or hug him for letting her go (I still wasn't sure which way it would go), but he always darted away before I could get close enough.

Cosima didn't come back until the next Monday. I expected, hell, everyone expected, her to look depressed and even angrier than usual. She and Scott had been longest lasting couple after all. But she walked into English that Monday with the slightest of smiles on her face. Her eyes looked a little brighter, maybe it was because they weren't hidden behind layers of eyeliner and hair, or maybe they really were just brighter. She looked a little kinder, a little softer.

She looked like my Cosima.

I didn't make any sense.


End file.
